


He's in the army now, a-blowin' reveille

by Mizbingley



Category: Marvel (Movies), Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Gen, Rule 63, Stella works through complex feelings w/r/t morals and ethics, The Afemgers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-19
Updated: 2012-10-19
Packaged: 2017-11-16 14:42:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/540573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mizbingley/pseuds/Mizbingley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stella struggles to reconcile her personal ethical code with Hannah Stein-Stark's promiscuous ways. A quick look into the early life of Toni Stark's mother and father, and how they were affected by the war. Kind of a companion piece to my first work, "Dealing With Daughters and Destruction".</p>
            </blockquote>





	He's in the army now, a-blowin' reveille

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Suzelle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suzelle/gifts), [Benzaiten (DaughterOfTheWest)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DaughterOfTheWest/gifts).



“I will be DAMNED. I’ve see Pat angry before, but that was something else,” Hannah chuckled, leaning over the table with a magnifying glass. The base of a vibranium shield lay before her, no worse for the wear even though it had been shot at point blank four times a half hour earlier. “In-fuckin’-credible. I mean, I knew it was going to do that, but I can’t believe it did that.”

Stella cocked an eyebrow at the slight engineer with impeccable hair. “You don’t seem to be that perturbed that he just whipped out a gun and shot at me.”

“Oh honey—there are worse things a man can whip out at you,” Hannah snorted, tapping at the shield here and there. “Come on Stella, you were a USO girl,” she said lightly, and unrolled a few pages of plans with a flourish.

“Mrs. Stark, please—“

“Hannah, please,” Hannah shot a quick, icy look at the statuesque blonde before returning to the shield. “Just Hannah, if we can drop the soldier bull for a minute.”

“Hannah, then,” Stella murmured. “Not accustomed to married life yet?” she smiled weakly and raised her eyebrows. Hannah was tiny, but intimidating. She was practically a bobbysoxer in combat boots, but Stella had seen the way Hannah cut into her assistants, big men who crumbled in front of those steely eyes. She wanted to get on well with her, but wasn’t sure how to go about it.

“With the way this war is going, I don’t want to get used to driving that car if it’s going to become obsolete so soon,” Hannah replied neutrally.

Stella sat quietly in a chair across from her, and watched the other woman produce a pencil from somewhere within her massive but perfectly neat piles of hair. Since traveling and performing non-stop, Stella had gotten pretty good at whipping up a set of victory curls on the spot, but nothing like Hannah churned out daily. Prior to her time working with the army, she had settled for low, unassuming buns and braids and when she was a kid, not even that—she wore an uneven bob for most of the Depression. No one had the time or energy for hair irons it seemed. Her mind wandered back to the dark-haired engineer still scribbling in front of her.

“You don’t wear your rings,” she remarked casually, nodding towards Hannah’s fingers, which were grey and blue from lead and ink. Hannah plunged a hand down her shirt and pulled up a cheap bronze chain with two thin bands that clinked softly against each other.

“No good in the lab or at the bar,” she said matter-of-factly, lifting a sheaf of paper to the light. “The boys are desperate but God knows they’re chivalrous. Wouldn’t dream of taking out a girl hitched to a soldier boy.”

Stella stared uncomfortably again in silence. Hannah could feel the heat focused in her direction and raised her head sharply.

“Don’t you dare judge me. Don’t. You might not approve, but it’s none of your goddamn business in the first place. Drop it and practice your high kicks.”

“Hannah, I wasn’t going to s—“

“No, but you were thinking it.” Stella furrowed her eyebrows and chewed her lip as Hannah stared her down. “Not all of our patriotic duties are so wholesome, honey.” Hannah dropped heavily onto a chair and leaned back, covering her eyes with her hand.

“So what—“ Stella suddenly felt suffocated by her shirt collar, like her button down was too warm, “You’re banking on _Hitler_ to clean up your problems? You duped a man who is out there fighting for your freedom, and you don’t have the guts to clean up the mess you made. I expected more from you, Mrs. Stark.”

Hannah took away her hands and regarded Stella coolly.

“You think I’m a monster.”

“I think you’re cruel,” she spat, “Unbelievably cruel, and selfish.”

“Ouch,” Hannah’s lip curled and she rose from her seat, fingering the shield. “But look what someone’s cruelty and greed got you, eh Rogers? Life’s not so bad for you.” She turned and walked away, leaving Stella seething in her wake.

“Always need to have the last word, don’t you?”

“When it suits my purposes,” she sang, shutting the door loudly. Stella glowered.

 

* * *

 

At midnight, Stella sat boring a hole in the wall with her eyes. She had spent the past hour and a half disassembling and reassembling the various guns scattered around the work room, did over a hundred pushups, and had just been fussing with her hair, which looked even worse than usual. However it was that Stark—Hannah, rather—had gotten those flips in place was an absolute mystery. She drummed her fingers on the shield, which she had been using as a makeshift mirror, and finally got up to stretch. There was nothing left to do. She didn’t really want to go and find Pat—he might still be sour at her from before, and to be frank, she still felt pretty sour at him. Resigned, she decided she might as well get it over with. Hannah might be a cold and calculating, manipulative hussy, but she was still doing her patriotic duty and Stella knew she wouldn’t get anywhere without Hannah’s help, or her tech.

She wandered out of the larger room and made her way to the row of offices where she figured Hannah might still be, sketching away. The light was on and the door slightly ajar when Stella rapped on it and stepped inside.

“Listen, Stark—“

The office was empty. She looked around the room, trying to read Hannah from her office walls as she debated whether or not to stay or try again in the morning. Hannah might be deliberately avoiding her, uncharacteristic as it seemed, and Stella was eager to just clean up their bad blood and make their relationship professional again.

Hannah’s office was, much like her hair, very organized. She was mildly surprised—Stark seemed like the kind of woman to be in six different directions at all times, and she certainly spoke like she was. Watching her direct her assistants all over the lab was both amusing and dizzying. But the office was spotless. On her desk was a personalized nameplate which read “Hannah Stein-Stark”. Stella’s eyebrows quirked upwards. The woman was certainly particular about her name. She marveled at the Stein and wondered if Hannah was Jewish—wondered if she had family in Europe, and what she thought about the reports coming in from the frontlines. Her eyes traveled to the small piles of paper on her desk, and walked around to get a better view without disturbing the fastidious order of Stark’s realm.

There was, peeking out from underneath some grimy papers, a small notebook with a recently dated entry. Stella paused before looking any closer—her moral compass was pointing distinctly in the opposite direction, knowing that this would be an invasion of Stark’s privacy. On the other hand, she didn’t feel particularly indebted to Hannah since their last conversation. She decided it would be hypocritical for Hannah to complain about Stella being unable to respect her personal space if Hannah couldn’t even respect her own marriage vows. She bit.

 

_October 15th, 1943_

_I was, of course, very right about the size of that gear I wrote about before. Too small, and too fragile. If we had more vibranium, we could turn that damned machine into something to be reckoned with, but being that our limited supply is channeled entirely towards the Blonde Bombshell’s shield, I don’t think I can swing it. Must continue searching for harder alternatives. Am tempted to play with diamond, but it would be damned hard to shape, and damned expensive to buy. I’ll sit on it._

_Went out dancing last night with the sandy blonde from the diner on Saturday. Okay night until he lost his nerve when we reached my door. They certainly talk very big, but don’t have much to match it with! I almost miss Mike. He snores terribly, and takes up the entire bed when he isn’t busy practically suffocating me with those huge dumb arms, but at least he knows better than to kiss a girl and leave her hanging out to dry. I don’t quite know what we’ll do ~~if~~ when he comes home. We had only had the apartment for a week before he left and I nearly went crazy for lack of sleep. Maybe we’ll move to a larger place with a room of my own, what with the bonus from the serum project. I just don’t know, it hurts my head to think that far in advance. We didn’t talk about it, but I hope he’s not going to get on me about children—I visited Lucy the other day in the hospital. She seems damn pleased about it, but she looks like she’s been through the war herself. Perhaps I’ll just build him a baby and he can play father with that._

 

Stella reached the end of the passage and gently lifted the corners of the previous pages. A small photo of Mike, presumably in some trench, was pasted in and captioned “Look at this big lug! Note: send scarf, looks underdressed. Might as well die from hellfire in battle than hypothermia in barracks.”

She turned her attention back to the sheaves of paper on top of the open journal. There was a grimy, creased letter in sloppy handwriting underneath a fresh sheet. She squinted at the words that weren’t covered.

 

_“Hey doll,_

_Cut it out with those big words—it’s embarasing to ask the other fellas to help me figure out my pretty wife’s love notes. You don’t need to show me how smart ya are, I know it!"_

 

The rest of the letter was covered by the clean sheet of paper on top, monogrammed with Hannah’s name and information:

 

_“My dearest Michael,_

 

_I hath received the impressive image of your prepossessing visage, and am all aflutter with longing for my treasured spouse. Late at night, I find myself awake even without your sonorous cacophony and cannot divine why—is it perhaps that I yearn for my bridegroom, so far from our domicile? Perhaps in the inhospitable conditions of the trenches, thou misseth my form in the same manner I misseth thine. The celebration of my twentieth year has come and gone, and it was impossibly dismal without you by my side._

_Translation: Hop to it and kill those Krauts baby! The bed is cold without you and you missed my birthday, you rotten hubby. Here’s a photo for those long cold nights—don’t show the other boys, unless you’re gonna charge ‘em first! Va-va-voom!_

_Kisses,_

_Your Hannah Banana"_

 

Stella blushed when she noticed the top of a very provocative photo sticking out of the envelope next to the letters, but didn’t get a chance to investigate any further when she heard footsteps approaching the door. She hopped out from behind the desk and posed nonchalantly as she examined a painting on the wall. Hannah flung open the door mumbling to herself, and stopped when she realized who else was in the room.

“Rogers,” she said briskly, sidestepping her and gathering the papers and notebook into her briefcase. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Neither did I,” Stella said lamely, trying to put her thoughts back in order. She couldn’t help but feel vexed at herself. Hannah wasn’t a saint, but in the end of it all, she was only a woman, just another human being. “I’m sorry I was so short with you before. I shouldn’t pry.”

Hannah sized Stella up warily.

“Yes, well… sorry I can’t live up to your standards, Dorothy. We’re not really in Kansas anymore, things aren’t so homegrown.”

Stella smiled at the reference.

“I know. It’s not my place to judge. Can we shake on it and put it past us? I thought we could find a place to eat and talk about that shield some more? I want to do something about that outfit, it has no place in battle.”

Hannah grasped her hand and smiled mischievously.

“Oh honey, I’ve been thinking about that. I’ve got some great ideas, when I’m through with you those threads will be so good the Germans won’t know whether they wanna fight you or fuck you.” Stella frowned. “Don’t worry, seductive confusion is gonna work for you, trust me on this.” She rolled her eyes and followed the slight brunette out the door.

“Hannah, I’ve been meaning to ask you about your hair.”

 

* * *

 

“I mean Barbie, I’m not kidding, you can have the run of the place,” Toni says, sweeping her arms around the storage unit under Stark Tower. Stella is horrified. There are literal hills of boxes precariously perched throughout the entire room.

“I wouldn’t run in this place even with your suit,” she said uneasily, testing the stability of one of the Pisa replicas near by. “Are you sure there aren’t some interns rotting around here?” Toni cackles, caught off guard by Stella’s burgeoning ability to crack a joke.

“Probably. No one will miss them though. I think what you’re looking for is near the back. Pete?” Peter Potts stepped forward, still concentrating on the StarkTablet he was reading. “You stand guard and watch for avalanches. Also maybe think of a way we could organize this shit, I don’t know how many more trips we’ll be able to take people on in here without having to hire a Sherpa first.”

“On it, Khaleesi.”

“Kiss me while ya can baby. I might not make it back from the depths of space.” Pete rolled his eyes and leaned in to give Toni a quick smooch.

“That’s not funny.”

“It’s hilarious, I’ll be back in a minute. Don’t put your phone on silent!”

Toni smirked as she led Stella towards the back of the room. Stella mulled over her words before broaching the topic with the second generation of Stark.

“Still raw over what happened at Midtown then?”

“What, with Petey? Nah, not a chance. I just like to remind him when I can, keep that cute butt in line.”

“What, worried he’ll run out on you?” she chuckled, glancing around at the piles of junk. Toni pursed her lips and didn’t answer. Stella picked up on the radio silence immediately.

“Oh no—Toni please! You’d need surgery to get rid of Pete! Or at least a damn good lawyer.”

“You aren’t suggesting I legally seal the deal, are you?” It was Stella’s turn to walk quietly. She pushed her hands into her pockets and wondered how to best proceed—how Hannah would advise her daughter.

“I’ve thought about it you know. I mean it’s practically a common law marriage by now, but I just don’t know.” Stella regarded Toni carefully. She wasn’t usually this straightforward—she suspected it was the proximity to the overwhelming nostalgia that was rankling her usually stalwart personality. She shrugged lightly and grinned at the billionaire genius monogamous philanthropist.

“Not unless you think it would change anything. Plus, what on earth would we give you as wedding gifts?” Toni smiled widely.

“You’re coming out all kinds of left field today, Cap. I figured Pete and I would wildly offend your sensibilities.”

“Ma’am, so long as I don’t have to see it, I don’t care what it is you and Mr. Potts do, legally bound or not.” Toni howled as they reached the back, practically a little fort of half unpacked boxes. Stella raised an eyebrow. “Been here recently?”

Toni mumbled something incoherent in reply and dove into one box, pulling out a few hefty photo albums.

“Well, these are the ones of the happy family,” she remarked sarcastically, turning them over to Stella. “There’s more than this though. Mama kept a million journals, those and her blueprints and letters are all over the place if you wanna look, I don’t care.”

Stella propped most of the albums on a lower set of boxes and flipped the first one open. There was a picture of Hannah and Mike dancing, probably shortly after the war. Her head was thrown back, caught mid laugh, as Mike twirled them around and smiled self-deprecatingly. Toni leaned over Stella’s shoulder and sighed.

“You gotta hand it to her, however ugly things got, Mama always looked really nice. Her hair was something else, she’d spend a half hour with the door locked sometimes just doing her hair. I never got to watch, I was always knocking things over and making a mess. I don’t know how you guys did it back then,” she said, shaking her head and fluffing her hair out of her ponytail. “Jesus, is this oil? What was I doing wh—how long has that been there…”

“Hannah did like to keep things in order. Almost compartmentalized I guess you could say.” Toni looked hard at her, gears whirring. “Why don’t we get back to Pete and head up to the tower. I don’t trust the structural soundness of this place at all. I could show you how to do this,” she said hopefully, gesturing to her victory curls.

“God, can you imagine? I’d look just like her,” she said, shuddering dramatically but not enough to cover the wistful note in her voice. “Are you sure you don’t want anything else?”

“This is fine. I don’t really think the rest is much of my business,” she said kindly, and turned to leave as much of the past as possible behind.

**Author's Note:**

> I just have a lot of feelings about the genderbent Stark family. Spelling mistakes in Mike's letter to Hannah were on purpose, being that he Is Kind Of A Dumb.


End file.
